


3.2.1.0

by Irish_coffee



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish_coffee/pseuds/Irish_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Helena doesn't flinch, she knows Myka needs to take it all out. She fully intends to let her. She knows even before the young woman extends her arm that she's going to try touching her again, so she prepares for the emptiness she's going to feel, the bitterness invading her heart." A few chapters of what SHOULD HAVE happened after 3...2...1 :). Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Z

Her simple 'Goodbye Helena', quietly whispered with Pete as a witness, was far from enough, and Myka wishes her eyes could have been as good as H.G's in expressing what couldn't find its way out through her lips.   
“You know it's only a matter of hours before Mrs. Frederic comes 'round to get it back, right?”   
Claudia's voice has Myka jumping and nearly dropping the orb she's been playing with, deep in thoughts. She suddenly feels flushed. She has forgotten she is sitting in the living room, where anyone could walk in and notice how desperate she certainly looks.   
Night has fallen on Leena's B&B, meaning she's been staring at the orb – on the verge of tears – for the best part of an hour.   
She nods and takes a deep breath.   
Claudia wears that sorry look of hers, obviously sympathizing. She must take her nod as an invitation – although Myka knows the young girl does not need one – for she comes to sit on the arm of her chair, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.   
“I know.” Myka whispers. “I don't know how to say goodbye.” She explains.   
It is preposterous, feeling the need to say goodbye to someone who used your friendship to get access to the means of destroying the whole human race.   
“Then don't.”   
Myka frowns at Claudia's serious tone, and gazes at her, silently waiting for her to explain what she means.  
“It's simple. If you don't know how to say goodbye, then don't. Go to your room, turn that thing on, and spend some time with H.G. Do whatever you used to do before – you know.” Claudia stops rather abruptly. What exactly did the two of you do, before? Is the question that plagues her mind. But that's their happy place she cannot possibly be granted an access to.   
Myka's gaze falls back on the orb still safely resting in her lap. A sad smile stretches her lips and she nods again.   
“You know what? You're absolutely right.”   
Claudia shares her smile, tapping her shoulder. Without a word, Myka leaves her seat and in no time she's up the stairs. She's suddenly in a rush. For all she knows, Mrs. Frederic could materialize any minute now, claiming the orb, taking H.G away from her, possibly forever.   
She pushes the door to her room – their room – open and sneaks in before seating on the edge of her bed.


	2. E

Steve has taken over her former room while she was away, and Myka is fine with it too. He has politely asked her if she wanted to get her room back, but she has declined, ensuring him it would be stupid and cumbersome for them both to switch again. No, she's moved in H.G's old room instead. The betrayal was still stinging when she put her suitcase down in the room Wells had lived in. Myka had raised her chin. Here she was, invading this sanctuary, breathing the air Helena had tainted with her hatred and villainous mind. She was purifying this place again, somehow. The old woman's stuff had been stored in boxes, but not put away. The boxes had been left there, as if no one had known what to do with them. As if it was merely temporary.   
And it was temporary after all, as Myka has helped herself. She is purifying the place, yes, but she cannot bear to erase all traces of H.G Wells from this room, for not all of her is evil and needs to be purified. Deep inside, Myka knows that. So she's placed Helena's books back on the shelves alongside her own. The boxes behind the door still contain most of her clothes, that's all. Little by little, Myka has unpacked the rest of the other woman's belongings. There's not a lot of things, really. When she thinks about it, drawing a list of H.G's things, Myka can't help but feel that she had not planned to stay long, and that hurts. It hurts even more when she thinks she should have seen it coming.   
To be honest, she doesn't know if she is purifying this room or getting poisoned. More and more, she notices small changes in her own behavior. It's not as if she had the irresistible nagging wish to trigger an ice age or kill people. She nearly wishes it was something like that. No it's more vicious – She cannot admit it to herself, but she is falling for the very woman who betrayed her trust, her admiration, her friendship. She's clinging to the smallest traces of her, anything at all that would prove she's still there in this room. For weeks, Myka has flipped through the pages of H.G's books, chasing the lingering warmth of her delicate fingers.   
One night, while she was turning her pillow to rest her cheek on its cold side, her nose had caught the familiar scent of Helena's shampoo, still trapped under the pillow case, safely nestled between the goose feathers. She had slept so peacefully after this discovery that she had given in and adopted the shameful habit of dripping small quantities of H.G's perfume on the damn pillow whenever the smell of her vanished.   
And soon enough, this habit is only a drop in the bucket, as she more or less consciously steps into a routine made of small rituals. Rituals that the other inhabitants of the B&B have learned to ignore, just like they choose to ignore that the shawl she wears on cold days is not hers.


	3. Chapter 3

She crosses her legs under her and turns the orb on.   
There's a clear look of surprise on the brunette's face when she appears in the middle of the room. Whether it is due to the fact that Myka still has the orb or because of where she is, the young agent cannot say. Those burning dark eyes take in the surroundings and there it is – the sad, tender smile, that dimple that triggers strange thoughts in Myka, thoughts of running her lips along the Englishwoman's cheek. She lowers her gaze.   
“Myka. I – I thought we had said our goodbyes.” She says, her voice a mere whisper, as if trying not to break into tears, although Myka's not sure an hologram can actually cry. Not that she wants to know, actually. She needs H.G to be strong for them both, or she will lose it.   
She shakes her head.   
“I don't want to say goodbye, Helena.”   
Those deep brown eyes fill with hope, hope that maybe, Myka is trying hard to forgive her for everything. Helena knows she probably doesn't deserve her forgiveness in the first place, but she has lost her whole era, her job, her pride, damn – even her body, and Myka's last shreds of affection are the last thing left to anchor her to this world. Granted, to anchor her consciousness in a world she cannot be part of.   
“I see you've taken my room.” She doesn't linger on her own reluctance to say goodbye. Of course she doesn't look forward to spending any more time in the dark, brooding over how stupid she is.   
Myka shifts, uneasy.  
“Steve moved into mine while I was gone.” That's not much of an explanation. There is a couple of empty rooms down the hallway. Helena knows it. And Myka is suddenly aware of the situation- H.G Wells' consciousness is standing there in her old room, room that she has invaded without getting rid of the inventor's belongings, which she treasures like her own. Okay, more than her own. She feels mortified.   
“Do you mind?” She finally asks, not sure if she's talking about the invasion of her private space – although she doubts Helena has ever heard about this notion – or the fact that she shamelessly stole her things.   
“Why would I? It's not as if I was in need of a room anymore.” Her sarcastic tone sounds awfully unjust even to herself, and she sighs when Myka lowers her gaze. She casts a glance around the room, smiling fondly. It does not escape her that her friend uses her things. She finds it rather endearing, adorable even, and it triggers a pang of guilt. The world being 'no place for a child' suddenly feels like the shittiest reason why you'd ever betray Myka Bering; trust H.G Wells on that.   
“No, darling. I don't mind. It makes complete sense. Doesn't it.” She says softly, her eyes back on Myka.   
No, no it doesn't. Helena's consciousness being trapped in a holographic form doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense that Myka should have to live in her deserted room in order to feel close to her, as if she had never left in the first place. It doesn't make sense that she has to cling to a scented pillow instead of hugging Helena when she needs comfort. Above all, it doesn't make sense that she should have a crush on that damn woman who's nothing but trouble. Yeah because that's what it is. A crush. A freaking bloody crush she didn't see coming. And all of this, and this 'NO' that wants to leave her throat must show on Myka's face, because Helena steps closer and tries to make amends.   
“I fail to see what Peter would do with all these books.” She says, smiling softly.   
That's what it takes to make Myka break into a fit of nervous chuckles. It's not all that funny, really. But it's how H.G said it, in such a matter-of-fact tone, as if it is evident enough to eclipse the deeper meaning of her previous question. The smile on Helena's face only grows wider, until she cannot hold it anymore and she's laughing too, her shoulders shaking helplessly. And she feels like giving way to the tears she cannot possibly shed because she is not made of water, because she desires nothing more than to collect Myka in her arms and let her cry in her neck, but she can't, because she is excluded from that otherwise tangible world, trapped inside of her own dimension. And why is it that she is constantly trying to destroy what has the power to make her happy?   
“I miss you.” That's not what Myka wanted to say. Helena doesn't deserve to know she's missed. She does not deserve to be missed at all. Don't walk away from your truth. 'Then why did you walk away from me?' is what Myka thinks.   
Helena is struck by the confession. She's both surprised that Myka feels that way – although the way she's been borrowing her belongings is a rather clear indication – and that she says it out loud.   
“Well, I'm here now, am I not.” Helena's tone is defiant, and Myka sees she clearly doesn't want to talk about the fact that she's not here. Not really. Her mind takes her back to the night Mrs Frederic came to find her at her father's bookstore, to Helena's look when she had tried to touch her, her hand meeting colored air where Helena's neckline should have been. Had it been pain? Longing? She feels bad about hoping it had been both.   
“No you're not.” She says, or rather spits out, jumping from her bed. She takes a second to admire the effect of her words on HG's face. Oh yes, this hurts, and she's not even ashamed of hoping it hurts like hell.   
Helena doesn't flinch, she knows Myka needs to take it all out. She fully intends to let her. She knows even before the young woman extends her arm that she's going to try touching her again, so she prepares for the emptiness she's going to feel, the bitterness invading her heart. What hurts even more than the knowledge that she cannot feel her beloved's touch is that this time, Myka's hand is nothing like the last time she's done this. There's no hesitation. Her fingers are guided by certainty, and Myka brushes them against thin air, where Helena's cheek would be, as she has done in Egypt. And that's all it takes for her to die inside. Or that's what she thinks until she registers the look of sheer love in Myka's gaze and she can't resist the moan that escapes from her. That's torture.   
“You do feel something when I touch you.” Myka observes, running her hand distractingly along her neck and down her arm.   
Helena swallows hard. Yes, she does. It's the faintest sensation, but when you're missing your body and the way it feels to have one, you kind of become hyper sensitive to anything close to a sensation.  
“A slight tingling.” She sighs.   
Myka can feel it too now. Electricity running at the tip of her fingers. She doesn't know what she's doing any longer. Helena's voice is heavy with desire, her face shows how painful it is for her to be 'touched' and not being able to touch back, and Myka feels drunk with power. For months H.G has manipulated her. Hundreds of looks and light caresses in the past have made her weak in the knees, absolutely unable to think of reciprocating the gestures of affection. Now, this is revenge. She can have this, now that she knows exactly how she feels for the petite woman, now that she misses her, all of her, she is desperate enough to drive her past breaking point.   
Neither of them know how it happened, but they are dangerously close to each other, yet they cannot collide. Without noticing, they reached the point where their lips are almost touching. They could kiss. It wouldn't be a real kiss made of lips and tongues, of course – barely electricity and warmth, a tingle of love going from one heart to a consciousness. The idea is very tempting, if you ask Myka. But she knows she will only end up wanting more. The aim of her little game is to make Helena suffer as a revenge, not to set her own heart ablaze with unrequited love and unquenchable lust. So she doesn't kiss her.  
Yet, her fingers think it's perfectly okay to go ahead and tease H.G's lips, and the holographic projection closes her eyes. The Englishwoman knows she shouldn't be imagining Myka's lips where her fingers are, but she has no control over her thoughts. She's shivering. Or maybe that's her image, undulating as a reaction to Myka's touch. Maybe her body is shivering too, wherever it is, if it still exists. That sudden thought is what makes her open her eyes again – What if she's dead and buried somewhere? She doubts Mrs Frederic could have convinced the regents to lay her to rest next to Christina in Paris.   
She takes a step back, only to regret doing so when she feels cold and empty again.   
“Please, don't torture yourself darling.”   
All the bitterness is gone from Myka. As if, somehow, the tingle between the tip of her fingers and Helena's holographic red lips had been the truth neither of them should walk away from. All that's left is a huge amount of tears. She nods, briefly, not looking at the traitor.   
It's too late for that kind of advice. That's who she is, blaming herself for everything that doesn't go according to plan, from her loneliness in college to Sam's death. And pleading the regents to reinstate Helena as a warehouse agent, never doubting her intentions.   
“Myka?”   
She's sure H.G would trap her chin in the palm of her hand to force her to look up if she could. She doesn't need to. Her pleading tone is enough to have all of Myka's attention.   
“You need to get some rest.” She says seriously.   
She's right. Myka feels sore. Her eyes are burning and she knows she's got some pretty ugly dark circles under those said-sad eyes.   
“I'll sing you a lullaby if you want.” Helena adds with a teasing smile that makes Myka's lips twitch.   
“But you'll be gone when I wake up.” She protests, too tired to raise her voice above a whisper.   
Helena shrugs.   
“Let's face it – We are not able to say goodbye. So let's just say goodnight.”


	4. O

In the morning, Myka will be alone, but there will still be a bit of H.G Wells with her. Her voice will linger in her ears, sweet and warm like honey, so English. She will still feel that electricity running on the tip of her fingers and for some strange reason, on her cheek and temple. The orb will be gone and Helena's consciousness taken away from her, but Myka will feel relieved from a great burden. She will be free from guilt and bitterness. Or at least that is what Helena wishes while she talks her to sleep, telling her about London, bits of her life and feelings.   
When Mrs Frederic comes to take back what belongs to the regents, Myka is fast asleep, lulled by Helena's words, caressing her like purifying water. She lets her burn this peaceful image in her mind, to conjure up when she will be asleep – God knows how long – in the black orb. When Helena turns to her, Mrs Frederic knows letting her stay longer than necessary was a punishment more than a favor.   
H.G nods, silently thanking her for granting her wish to stay a few hours with Myka after their mission.   
“Sweet dreams, Myka.” She whispers when she is sucked back by her prison.


End file.
